The Vyne

In the long, dark, cold winter of 1528, the Lord Sandys's beloved Lady was taken with a fever, and though he knelt a ceaseless vigil at her bedside, her soul slipped from this world after 2 and 10 nights.

The Lord was then engulfed by a torrent of grief, and deaf to the entreaties of kith and kin, he wandered beyond care into the Northern woods. There, in a small moonlit glade, he plunged to his knees amongst the gnarled roots, and wailed inconsolable woe to the mute earth.

Consumed by grief, there the Lord Sandys remains to this day, his mourning figure petrified eternally amongst the Beech and Oak.